The One Failure of Arnold Stang

Network radio comedy and comedy/variety shows were filled with all kinds of really talented secondary players, many of whom were in great demand. Yet so few of them broke out of their “also appearing tonight” role and moved into stardom. Even the great Mel Blanc failed in a sitcom supposedly tailored for his talents.

New York Herald-Tribune critic John Crosby probably elucidated the reason the best. Radio sitcoms were, by and large, corny, obvious and trite. And while some secondary players were extremely versatile, they were suddenly called upon to change roles when given their own shows. They had to be the funny straight man around whom a half hour of plot revolved instead of someone who came on, did a couple of minutes of schtick, and was quickly replaced by the next routine. A couple of minutes of Mr. Kitzel on the Benny show is funny. A half-hour of Kitzel is painful (as anyone who heard the failed Kitzel radio pilot can attest). It’s too bad, because the actors themselves were more than capable on air.

That brings us to Arnold Stang, who had a fine career in cartoons (mainly in New York) and was screamingly funny taking the wind of Milton Berle on radio and television. Stang was great with Henry Morgan on radio. He was given a chance at radio stardom, too. The results were predictable. Here’s Crosby from July 15, 1948.

Radio In Review
By JOHN CROSBY.
Stooges And Superstition
A STOOGE, according to Webster’s International Dictionary, is “a foil.”
Webster’s in this case is giving us the runaround, keeping the franchise without being very helpful.
Anyway, I chased over to “foil” and found a number of interesting but not very enlightening definitions. The only one that seemed at all probable was something that “enhances or sets off by contrast”.
That isn't a bad description of a stooge though it’s by no means exhaustive. The reason I undertook all this research—all of a minute or so—was to find some hint as to why stooges when divorced from their comedians do so badly.
The definition goes a long way toward explaining it. A stooge is ornamental, a bit of fancy ironwork around the balcony but not the main support. After all, a man can’t very well enhance or provide contrast to himself.
ALL OF WHICH is a longwinded introduction to Arnold Stang’s new show, “It’s Always Albert” (CBS 8:30 p. m. Fridays). Stang, Henry Morgan’s man in the regular season, is a rather different stooge whose special qualities resist the printed word. His grunts and ejaculations—eh, yeah, neyah—are a sort of an articulate East Side New York commentary on this and that.
“How do you like Hollywood?” Morgan asked him once.
“Eh!” said Stang, summing it all up briefly and bitterly.
I like it but I realize a lot of people find Mr. Stang’s language a little too close to that of the gibbon for comfort.
HOWEVER, I CAN’T say I’m at all happy with Stang as a featured comedian. In this vehicle, he plays a harebrained and impoverished composer, a characterization I find wholly credible.
He is called on to be stupid, inept and recalcitrant—all qualities which I think miss the essence of the Stang character about a mile. As a composer he is harassed by his brother and sister-in-law, who bounce insults off his head from all angles, into selling his music and raising little dough for the family.
This falls into the familiar dull routines of trying to interest millionaires or movie producers and then upsetting the soup over them.
The jokes are long, painful and so carefully telegraphed that you find yourself wincing, waiting for the blow to fall. The brother is played with demonic energy by Jan Murray, a former night club entertainer, and the sister-in-law is Pert Kelton, who isn’t bad though her material isn’t of much help.
Also, I’m afraid Stang’s stylized mannerisms get awfully wearisome in half an hour. I’m sorry about the whole thing.

Stang’s only other starring roles came in cartoons and in each case (Herman the Mouse, Top Cat), his character was far removed from what fans expected him to portray on radio and television.

“It’s Always Albert” is long-forgotten and was hardly a setback to his career. Stang seems to have preferred not being a star and he left behind a great body of work. You can read a little more about him on the Yowp blog, though it focuses a lot on his work at Hanna-Barbera.

Hot Spot Backgrounds

Tex Avery had a great influence on the theatrical animation business, but it seems the first thing he did that everyone copied was phoney travelogues. A lot of them, even by Avery himself, weren’t that hot.

Even the war-time Snafu series for the Army-Navy Screen Magazine used the travelogue format once, in “Hot Spots” (1945). The backgrounds look like the work of Paul Julian and, judging by this post at Thad Komorowski’s web site, the layouts are by Hawley Pratt.







Even the final gag owes something to Avery’s “Land of the Midnight Fun” polar bear bit. The gags actually don’t centre around Snafu at all, and maybe that’s why this cartoon isn’t as enjoyable as the others in the series.

If the voice of the Devil isn’t Hal Peary, it’s the best impression of Peary this side of Willard Waterman (and it doesn’t sound like Dick Nelson’s impression of Peary to me).

Balloon Land

Ub Iwerks’ “Balloon Land” (1935) is almost the quintessential early ‘30s cartoon. It has:

● Squash and stretch (the cartoon stars balloons, after all),
● Singing and dancing (and a Carl Stalling original song),
● Billy Bletcher as a bad guy,
● Pointless celebrity caricatures (and a Joe Penner “You nasty man!” reference),
● The camera coming in for a close-up of wide-open mouths,
● Characters using whatever is at hand to violently attack and vanquish the bad guy.

Being an Iwerks cartoon, it’s also odd and confusing in places, but you kind of give that a pass because, well, it’s an Iwerks cartoon.

Maybe the best part about this cartoon is the designs. I have no idea who is responsible but the balloon-shaped homes, trees (with faces on them) and characters are a lot of fun. And so are the gratuitous appearances of Laurel and Hardy and Charlie Chaplin, doing a flop-footed dance.




And the Pincushion Man has a truly imaginative design. Compare this with what you see on the screen in those crappy Buddy cartoons Warners released at the same time.



Iwerks cartoons, especially toward the mid-‘30s, weren’t exactly known for their gags, but there’s a really good one with a row of babies marked “Alarm.” Take the milk bottles out of their mouths and they start crying, like an alarm. And, being a cartoon of the ’30s, the camera zooms in to the open mouths.



I only have a version of this cartoon from those cheap collections of public domain cartoons so the screen grabs aren't pristine. But you get the idea.

Fred Allen Talks Television

Fred Allen once remarked (and I’m paraphrasing from an appearance on “The Big Show”) that television was called a medium because “nothing is well done, or very rarely.”

Allen spent years complaining about network radio, but then when television started killing the medium he complained about, he complained about that, too.

TV and Allen didn’t mix, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from those broadcasting executives that Allen constantly ridiculed. They gave him a variety show. It worked for him in radio, but not television. They gave him a Groucho-like quiz show where he could ad-lib with ordinary people. It worked for him in radio, but not television. Finally, they put him on the panel of “What’s My Line” where, again, he could ad-lib. It worked for him as best as it could. But Allen’s reputation for ad-libbing completely overshadowed the fact his radio show was carefully scripted, much of it by Allen himself, week after week. Ad-libs were only the icing on the dessert, not the main course. That was all lost when he went to television. He simply couldn’t be the same one-man band he was in radio.

Allen harangued about television to anyone who would listen, and New York Herald-Tribune columnist John Crosby, who shared with Allen intolerance for the mundane and inane, gave him a chance to make fun of TV in some one-liners. The column is from May 9, 1950, when Allen was still appearing on “The Big Show” with Tallulah Bankhead on NBC. To give you a bit of background, Douglas MacArthur was fired by President Truman on April 11. CBS and RCA both developed different colour TV transmission processes; RCA’s was compatible with black and white TV sets. Televised broadcasts of major league baseball were given as one reason for the decline in minor league baseball in the ‘50s as league after league folded. And as for which Ralph Edwards show is being referred to, it’s your guess. “This is Your Life” wasn’t on TV at that point, I’m presuming it’s “Truth or Consequences,” which opened with loud shrieks of laughs from the studio audience being panned by the camera.

Radio and Television
By FRED ALLEN
John Crosby is in Europe on vacation. In his absence his column will be written by friends.

Television is here to stay—and so is General MacArthur.
In the beginning, God worked six days and created the Earth. Today, 1 director, 1 scenic designer, 8 writers, 4 painters, 6 carpenters, 5 wardrobe women, 4 cameramen, 4 assistants, 2 floor managers, 8 chorus girls, 10 actors, 6 electricians, 18 stagehands and 20 musicians work six days and create a mediocre television show.
* * *
In Chicago, during 1950, a crime was committed every 12 ½ minutes.
(Criminals on TV crime shows claim they could have beaten this record if they didn’t have to stop for commercials.)
* * *
The Western Union Telegraph Company has formed a subsidiary to install and service television receivers.
(If you come home some night and see a messenger boy on your roof—there is no reason to stop drinking.)
* * *
The National Credit Office, Inc., reports that 70 percent of consumer purchases of television receivers are on an installment basis.
(The size of a TV actor’s audience has nothing to do with his ability—it is determined by the Finance Company’s collections.)
* * *
To cover the recent demonstration for General MacArthur the various networks had more than 500 technicians and $2,500,000 worth of TV equipment in the streets.
(Many radio actors wish the networks would leave them there).
* * *
The Supreme Court will shortly rule on whether the CBS or RCA system will be used for color television.
(Meantime, both TV networks will operate in one color—red.)
* * *
According to a survey, conducted by a Northwestern University professor, teen-age youths are reading less because of television.
(In most American homes the 20-inch screen is replacing the five-foot shelf.)
* * *
The newspaper critic’s scathing review of a TV show is hate’s labor lost.
(The minute a program is finished the viewer at home forms his opinion of the actors and their wares. The critic’s pernicious monograph, appearing in the paper the following morning, is too late to serve a purpose. It is merely the obituary of a departed charade.)
* * *
Television is keeping so many baseball fans away from one minor league park that the teams are only playing with seven men.
(The other two players sit in the stands so there will be somebody to watch the games.)
* * *
A Boston incident. Excited by something it saw on a television program, a Doberman-Pinscher bit his six-year-old master.
(It’s logical—the dog couldn’t turn the set off—it did the next best thing.)
* * *
A special committee of the National Association of Radio and Television Broadcasters reports it will attempt to raise necklines in television.
(Faye Emerson is sure going to look incognito in a turtle-neck evening gown.)
* * *
One columnist wonders why most TV directors have those short haircuts.
(TV directors wear crew cuts to keep the actors from getting in their hair.)
* * *
There are so many college men working in television any office door can be opened with a fraternity key.
* * *
A Cleveland Transit System board member blames television for trolley line’s deficit.
(Television may be going places but the people who are looking at it aren’t).
* * *
One TV survey outfit has a new electro-mechanical system that eliminates calling viewers by phone.
(Today there are so many surveys calling set owners that the set owners are starting to call the surveys — and what they are calling them threatens to reach a new high in sulphurous invective. Some of the phrases contain so much sulphur if they are rubbed on a hard surface the words will give off a dull blue flame.)
* * *
In South Bend, a TV antenna fell across a 27,000-volt power line with some amazing results. Balls of fire bounced up and down on the roof with thunderous explosions; the telephone burned out; a glove lying in the yard burst into flames; the plumbing began throwing off sparks and pipes melted around the kitchen sink.
(The family was not alarmed. They thought it was the Ralph Edwards’ TV show starting.)

I’d like to think if Fred Allen had lived longer—he died in 1956—the right venue on the tube could have been found for him. But he never looked comfortable on camera. Some radio people are meant for radio. Allen always wanted to be a writer and, considering the calibre of two autobiographies he put together in the ‘50s, his right venue may have been a publisher’s doorstep.

Walter Lantz, Jitterbugs and Old Drawings

Today, the idea of tossing out animation art makes fans (and collectors) cringe, but if you want an idea about little anyone thought of the drawings at one time, just ask Walter Lantz. A United Press reporter did in 1938.

The story starts off talking about the short “I’m Just a Jitterbug,” which had yet to be released. It then talks about Lantz’s writers. By this time, the writing department seems to have consisted of Victor McLeod and James Miele. Finally, Lantz tells you how much you need to spend to get an Oswald drawing. The story is from December 1, 1938.

Jitterbugs in the Films
Movie Producer Insults 10,000,000
By FREDERICK C. OTHMAN
HOLLYWOOD — (U.P.) — Walter Lantz, who never has been noted for respectful treatment of things artistic, has completed a movie cartoon about jitterbugs — and never have we seen 10,000,000 people more thoroughly insulted.
Producers at Universal studios, it developed, were making a picture called “Swing, Sister, Swing,” for which they hired a dozen of America’s best jitterbugs. Lantz stumbled across these folks dancing like mad in a soundproof stage and that gave him an idea.
He sneaked in a movie camera to record their gyrations for his own nefarious purposes. He developed the film and had his 125 artists reproduce with line drawings each picture in the reel. Then he photographed the drawings in sequence and that gave him a moving cartoon of jitterbugs dancing. That was funny enough, but as insulting as Lantz intended.
Back to the Artists
He sent his cartoon film back to his artists and they turned the jitterbugs into bugs. The men became grasshoppers, the women lady bugs, and the members of the band, crickets. Then Lantz photographed these sequences, too, and he had a picture showing real bugs dancing exactly like jitterbugs. The result was precisely what Lantz wanted. It’s funny, all right, but not to a jitterbug. If the estimated 10,000,000 jitterbugs in the world don’t make him eat the whole reel, without catsup, they’re gluttons for punishment.
Lantz, whose hair is beginning to gray after 24 years in the cartoon business, said he feared no normal man ever could make a success of it.
“We’re all crazy,” he said, frankly. “If we weren’t, we’d never concoct our ideas. A mind has got to be more than just peculiar to do it.
“Craziest, of course, are our writers. They can’t write. They wouldn’t be any good if they could. They’ve got to be men who can express their ideas in pictures. So they think up their gags and draw pictures of ‘em. Usually a man who can express himself in words can’t do it in pictures.”
Writerless Writers
Lantz pays his writerless writers $125 a week, but when he finds a particularly crazy one, he shells out $150. His cartoons cost around $15,000 to produce and always return a nice profit.
Through the years his drawings have been piling up at the rate of several million a year. Lantz was considering burning the whole works, so he could get more space, when he discovered he was about to destroy a valuable asset.
“We found out there was a market for these drawings,” he said. “People would buy them to decorate their bar rooms and their nurseries and would pay $3 and $4 each for them. So now we’ve got an art dealer — imagine that! — selling original drawings of Oswald the Rabbit, Clock Gobble, Henrietta Hen, and Gladys Goose and whatnot and sometimes I wake up at night and laugh.”

The cartoon being discussed was written by Victor McLeod and owes a little bit to the Warner Bros. cartoons where books come to life in a store after closing and engage in musical gags. In this case, the story is set in a cartoon studio, and there’s live action footage of animators running out the door at closing time (sped up like in a Warners’ Christmas gag reel of the late ‘30s).

It looks like Jerry Beck posted it on line so you can watch it (with a re-issue opening title) below.

Bugs as Groucho Smear

The mid-‘40s seems to have been the era of smear animation at Warners. It was one way to get characters to move quicker. Bobe Cannon did smear drawings for the Chuck Jones unit and Virgil Ross did it in the Friz Freleng unit (with the help of their assistants).

Here’s a set of consecutive drawings from “Slick Hare” (1947), a cartoon with all kinds of stuff going on, some of it having nothing to do with the plot. It takes place amongst the stars in West Hollywood’s Mocrumbo restaurant. At one point to hide from Elmer Fudd, Bugs Bunny dresses up as Groucho. But when the rabbit realises Elmer’s onto him and coming after him from behind, he turns his Groucho lope into a run. These are five consecutive drawings.







Freleng’s usual mid-‘40s coterie of animators is here—Ross, Ken Champin, Gerry Chiniquy (with another dance sequence) and Manny Perez.

Excited City Wolf

There’s great animation from start to finish in “Little Rural Riding Hood,” Tex Avery’s last attempt to put his sexual desire spin on the old tale. It starts out with a rubbery Red loping down the path, twisting her feet in the air as she talks to the audience. And it ends with yet another one of those great sequences where Avery tries to keep topping himself.

After the country wolf (Pinto Colvig) goes through typical Avery takes watching a city Red Riding Hood in a nightclub, ending with him being pushed like a wheelbarrow by his icy city cousin (Daws Butler), who takes him back to the country in his limo.



Then we get a look at the country Red Riding Hood (Colleen Collins).



Now it’s the city wolf’s turn to get turned on. His top hat grows, his head bursts through it and the top hat goes up and down his elongated neck.



Time for a typical Avery wide-eyed take. Two drawings alternate to give a throbbing effect for a few frames, then Avery widens the eyes some more.



Next the eyes are round and extend out. When they contract back into the head, ghosts of the whites and pupils are left behind.



The body flies apart. There are two drawings alternated of the body, but the top hat turns clockwise in mid-air.



The wolf jumps out of the car (note the speed lines).



He rips off his jacket and throws it away.



More rubber legs as the city wolf starts to run (in place). The casual country cousin (I love the bent fingers) reaches to hold the city wolf’s suspenders and put a huge mallet in them.



The mallet goes flying in the air, leaving ghost mallets behind.



The mallet bops the city wolf on the head, unconscious and cross-eyed.



The country cousin wheels him away, just like the city wolf did to him in the previous scene. The roles are reversed and the excited country wolf drives his cousin back to the city, presumably to begin the second cycle of a never-ending chain of sexual desire of Riding Hoods and interfering denial. Truly a great cartoon, one of Avery’s best.

The credited animators are Grant Simmons, Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Bobe Cannon.

Jim Backus, Radio and Recovery

Network radio allowed performers to be versatile. In television today, could you picture an actor intoning about the latest war news on one show, and chatting with Ambrose the Talking Horse on another? It happened on radio in 1942.

And the actor in question was Jim Backus. Granted, on “This Nation at War” on the Blue Network, he used the moniker James G. Backus. He was plain old Jim Backus on his self-titled comedy/variety show the same year. And as strange as it seems, considering Backus became famous for his funny stuff, the quasi-documentary show stayed on the air longer than the other one.

Today, Backus is known either from his work as animated filmdom’s Mr. Magoo, or as the filthy-rich Thurston Howell III on “Gilligan’s Island.” But he made his name in radio, though not without some struggles, and ones that can’t compare with the ones he went through after Gilligan.

The earliest mention I can find of Backus in radio isn’t on a radio show. It’s in a 1940 print ad for bourbon. Backus is billed merely as “radio announcer” and his home address in Cleveland is listed, making it appear like an endorsement from an ordinary guy. He soon headed to New York and by February 1942, he was stooging on Kay Thompson’s show on CBS. (Note: Please see Sam Irvin’s insight about this in the comment section). ‘42 looked to be his year. On May 26, he landed the narrator role on “This Nation at War” (one story announcing the gig pointed out he had written for Dinah Shore), then on June 18, he got his own show featuring Jeff Alexander and his Ragtime band, vocalist Mary Small, the Eight Balls of Fire chorus, announcer Frank Gallop, regulars Carl Eastman, Eddie O'Shea and Hope Emerson, and the aforementioned Ambrose. Oh, and a young man named Art Carney. It flopped. Big time. The NBC show lasted three weeks and was pulled off the air.

July 7, 1943: Backus landed another starring role, this time in the crime drama “Flashgun Casey” on CBS. For some reason, Backus was replaced by the end of August and the show went on to a long run under the name “Casey, Crime Photographer.”

Backus, in his autobiography Rocks on the Roof, practically laughs about his next failures. Beatrice Kaye got him hired to play her love interest in a comedy/variety show called “Gaslight Gaieties,” sponsored by Teel Dentifrice. It debuted November 11, 1944. The love interest had the upper-crust Eastern seaboard voice that Backus gave to Thurston Howell III. What worked on “Gilligan’s Island” didn’t work for liquid tooth goo. Said Backus, “This job lasted a grand total of three weeks before some obscure vice-president heard the show and decided my new voice had homosexual overtones.” He related how he got a call a week later to be on Milton Berle’s new show; “Let Yourself Go” had changed networks and debuted on NBC on January 3, 1945. But Backus said he never appeared during the 13-week gig because the hammy Berle kept running so long they never got to his part. No matter. By May, the people running Alan Young’s radio show on ABC figured Backus’ snooty-rich character voice would be perfect to put in Young’s rival, and thus Hubert Updyke III was born and went on for a four-year run. One of the writers was a chap named Sherwood Schwartz, who created “Gilligan’s Island” and, well, you can put the pieces together.

By December, Backus was heard on “The Danny Kaye Show” as Mr. Singleton, the sponsor. His radio career was finally moving ahead.

Everything I’ve read suggests Backus was pretty funny when he wasn’t on the air. This syndicated newspaper story from 1947—when Backus was getting a credit at the end of every Alan Young show—reveals he was into puns.

In Hollywood
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
Staff Correspondent.
HOLLYWOOD, Sept. 17.—(NEA)—You’ve never heard the Backus Banter? Probably not. You’ve probably never even heard of Backus — first name Jim.
Jim Backus is a radio comedian who has appeared on as many as 15 radio programs a week, under the names of the characters he creates for specific shows.
He's probably better known as Hubert Updyke, of the Alan Young show, than he is as Jim Backus.
Anyway, Jim has come up with a new parlor game for Hollywood. Here’s a typical story, titled Travelogue or Inside Backus, in Backus Banter fashion:
“Just before we were to set sail, my wife had a Preminger that something would happen, but I assured her that everything would be all right. The ship’s whistle gave three short Janet Blairs and we cast off for unknown waters. That night a storm beset us, and, while I weathered it, Virginia Van Upped twice.
“I gave her a Seymour Nebenzal tablet and she was soon calm. The wind was to the Louis Hayward, and sent us off course somewhat to the south. The following morning, the lookout sighted something off the starboard bow, and the next thing we knew the first mate had Harpoed a Marx. Presently we sailed into enchanting Turhan Bey and anchored for the right.
“At dawn the next morning, the natives awoke us with cries of Za-Nuck, Za-Nuck, and we cast off in our dinghies. I was brought to the native chieftain who was wearing a Deanna Durban. He placed a native conveyance at my disposal, a Deborah Kerr, with which we went into the interior, molested only by British soldiers armed with Martha Vickers. At a native market, I saw a pocketbook that I wanted for my wife, and since the exchange was down I purchased it for three Hume Cronyns.
“I watched the native sport, which is racing Audrey Totters and watched the native women make sweaters from the wool of Lanaturners. Finally, I returned to the ship. Imagine my Cyd Charisse when I noted I had lost my wallet. Some; unfriendly bartender must have slipped me a Mickey Rooney.
“With this note, we slipped out of the lagoon of Turhan Bey, never more to return. The drowsy natives were softly humming a native chant, titled Helmut Dantine, which means ‘There’s gum on your hat’.”
That’s the way it goes, says Backus.
But it’s easy to stuff your ears with Joe Cotten.

Radio careers morphed into television careers (for some), and we’ve discussed Backus on television in the pre-Gilligan days HERE. His post-Gilligan career was touched with sadness, coupled with hope.

Vernon Scott of United Press International interviewed Backus several times over his career. You can sense some discomfort in this story, reported on June 8, 1984.

Comedian Jim Backus recovering from mysterious six-year illness
By Vernon Scott
United Press International
HOLLYWOOD – Jim Backus, the voice of cartoon character “Mr. Magoo,” is fighting for a new life after six years of paralyzing illness, a heart-breaking, career-destroying case of extreme hypochondria.
A series of psychosomatic illnesses made him almost a total recluse, convinced that he was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
He appeared to have all the symptoms. A phalanx of doctors told him the disease could not be diagnosed, only evaluated.
Backus’ mind began playing tricks on him. He found himself incapable of leaving his luxurious Bel Air home for months at a time, refusing to see old friends, afraid to go to restaurants, terrified of working in front of a camera.
A former scratch golfer, he refused to touch a club. The author, with his wife Henny, of two uproarious books — “Rocks on the Roof” and “What Are You Doing After the Orgy?” — he could not force himself to write.
He became paranoid, convinced he was doomed. The more he was examined by doctors, psychiatrists, hypnotists and a scattering of frauds, the worse he grew, sure he was a goner.
His half-dozen years of nightmare challenges anything in Kafka.
Backus, again with the help of Henny, has set the whole eerie story down with frightening and funny details in his new book, “Backus Strikes Back.”
The other day Backus sat in a chair in his home, a frightened, insecure man, contrasting tragically with the raucous, extroverted Backus of old, needing reassurances he wasn’t, indeed, in the clutches of a life-threatening disease. His eyes pleaded for optimistic opinions of his appearance.
As a matter of fact, he did look healthy, perhaps even robust except for the haunted shadows in his eyes.
“Part of Jim’s trouble is the misevaluation of a disease that is hard to diagnose — Parkinson’s,” Henny said as Jim nodded agreement.
“Jim was so frightened it caused him to suffer a complete crackup. He’s only 80 percent well right now and doing very well, but it has been a very rough go. Our book isn’t sad. It’s funny and it has an hilarious foreward [sic] by George Burns.”
Jim, his voice as strong and raspy as it ever was, said, “My problem was a long time in coming. I was working terribly hard. I did 13,000 radio commercials. It’s in the Guinness Book of Records.
“I was going full barrel and I was suffering the classic overwork symptoms of dizziness, light-headedness, irascibility, the usual. Then I started to faint and fall down a lot. They put me in the hospital and gave me the works and evaluated it as Parkinson’s.”
“Jim’s an actor and the minute they said Parkinson’s he went right into the act because he knew a lot about the disease,” Henny said. “He’s been a life-long hypochondriac. He was psychologically duplicating what he heard about the disease.”
Henny turned to Jim and said, “Once you learned we suspected you had Parkinson's you went out and read everything on the disease and convinced yourself you had it.”
“Psychosomatic is an over-used word,” Jim countered. “To me the physical problems were very real and still are. There is still no accurate evaluation of what I have.”
“Of course, he didn’t have Parkinson’s,” Henny said. “He had perfectly normal days. What the doctors did find is a basic 1 percent basal ganglion, which is a mild disease neither of us understands.
“What he really suffers from is what 15 percent of this country suffers—total panic, stress, anxiety. And I hope the book helps people as fans have helped us with their letters of encouragement.”
“I haven’t been out of this house for almost six years,” Backus said. “I was terrified when the doorbell rang. I’d run and hide. I’m trying to get over acute panic right now as we talk.”
Backus grinned engagingly and popped a few wisecracks exactly as he did a decade ago. But when he stood up, his posture was that of an invalid. His steps were the shuffle of an old man—which Backus is not.
“Your mind can do this to you,” Backus said. “You know it’s doing it to you but you’re powerless to stop it. I’ve tried. I’ve gone to the best shrinks, yoga, hypnosis and even had a layer-on of hands who set fire to my hair.
“It’s a matter of mind over matter and I’m determined to get well. The book was therapy and inspired by Norman Cousins’ book, ‘Anatomy of an Illness.’ In the final analysis the only way out is laughter.”

Backus evidently overcame his fear. He went out and plugged his book, even making an appearance on ‘The Today Show.’ Psychosomatic or not, anyone who saw Backus on TV the last few years of his life could see he didn’t look well. He died of pneumonia on July 3, 1989. At a memorial service, Milton Berle recalled how he visited Backus in hospital for two hours and, as he turned to leave, said “I hope you get better.” Backus’ response: “You, too.”

Even Uncle Miltie couldn’t top that exit line. Jim Backus was funny to the end.

The Loose Nut Explosion

Shamus Culhane goes for a couple of interesting impact effects in “The Loose Nut” (1945), starring his anti-social version of Woody Woodpecker. One scene has Woody in a steamroller chasing after a construction worker. Woody crashes through the door of the shack where the guy is hiding. Then the impact.

Culhane and his background artist, Terry Lind, came up with a long, bizarre drawing with squiggles and Saturn. Culhane panned left to right along the drawing, frame by frame, cutting away to blank cards of different colours, close-ups of different parts of the steam-roller, or explosion-looking drawings.

I haven’t clipped together the whole background because it’s really long, but this is about 2/3rds of it. You can click to enlarge it.



Here are some of the other drawings that were in the sequence. One close-up of the construction worker is turned to emphasise the impact.





Culhane does it again in the climax of the cartoon, minus the Saturn and squiggles, but using blank colour cards, character drawings and explosion drawings, and re-using the character drawings with different solid-colour backgrounds.

Wacky Blackout Title Drawings

The best gag in Bob Clampett’s wartime spot-gag cartoon “Wacky Blackout” (1942) is in the opening.titles.

In the first shot, a civil defence worker enforcing blackout rules spots a stretching or dancing woman who’s disobeying the blackout.

In the second shot, he’s not enforcing the blackout. Instead, everyone’s checking out the babe, including a curious neighbourhood dog, cat and mouse.




I’ve removed the credits in the second frame so you can see the drawing better.

The stick-figure idea’s pretty cute, too. Virtually the whole cartoon’s pretty weak.

I haven’t any idea who drew the title cards for Clampett’s unit, which he had just taken over from Tex Avery. Sid Sutherland gets the animation credit here, but you can’t miss Rod Scribner. I suspect Bob McKimson and Virgil Ross are here, too.